A Bad Year for Slytherins
by Minutia R
Summary: A story that dares to answer the question, "What were the Slytherin first-years doing during the events of Chamber of Secrets?" Starring the intrepid Beth Goyle, helpful little sister to everyone's favorite non-verbal wizard. Unless you prefer Crabbe.
1. Chapter 1: The Ministry Raid

Chapter 1: The Ministry Raid

It wasn't the pounding on the front door that woke Beth, but Gregory's heavy footsteps in the hall outside her bedroom. She opened her eyes to a few streamers of pre-dawn light, and instantly knew something was wrong. There were too many sounds in the house for this early in the morning: Gregory's receding footsteps, the pounding which was eventually replaced by an altercation of shrill voices, only one of which Beth recognized, and less distinct sounds of confusion and people milling about. She shoved her feet in her slippers and went to see what was the matter.

As she made her way down the hall, Beth could make out words. Bestet, the Goyles' house-elf, was saying. "You _is not_ coming in. No-one is coming in without Master and Missis' permission!"

And the unfamiliar voice was saying, "This is Ministry business, elf. Get out of my way."

By the time Beth reached the head of the stairs, Gregory was already advancing on the entrance, wand in hand. Framed in the doorway, scowling down at Bestet, was a small, round witch, and standing slightly behind her were two burly wizards, one of whom had a moondog on a leash. The moondog was straining at its leash and scrabbling the ground, all in total silence. That made it the only silent one in the entire tableau.

It was at this point that Beth's mother came in from a side door, one hand clutching her dressing gown, hair in disarray. "Who are you?" she demanded. "What's going on? What's the meaning of this?"

"My name is Lorelei Eusebius, and we're with the Improper Use of Magic office," said the unfamiliar witch. "We're here about unlawful items, literature, and potions that were reported to be in your possession. Tell your son to put that wand away. I could have him expelled from his school before you could say _expelliarmus_ -- assuming he goes to school."

"I certainly will _not_!" said Beth's mother. "There's no law against a wizard holding on to his own wand inside his own house, much as you may wish there were. But then, to you lot we're all just magical creatures to be regulated and controlled, aren't we?"

"There's no need to be hysterical, Mrs. Goyle," Lorelei Eusebius said. "I merely require --"

"They was trying to _force their way in_, Missis," Bestet was saying scornfully. "They was trying to _intimidate_ Bestet!"

Gregory had lowered his wand, by about half an inch. "_I_ go to school," he was muttering.

Beth slipped quietly down the stairs to stand next to her mother and Gregory. Then her father came into the room, and everyone suddenly went as silent as the moondog.

The reason for his late appearance on the scene was immediately evident: He had taken the time to dress. One look at his neat robes and Beth felt ashamed of meeting visitors in her nightgown, even visitors as uninvited and unpleasant as the ones standing on the doorstep. The two wizards flanking Lorelei Eusebius suddenly looked small and insignificant next to Caleb Goyle. Gregory let his wand fall to his side.

"What's all this?" Beth's father said, a quiet growl.

"They say they're from the Ministry, Caleb," said Beth's mother. "They're here to raid our house."

He turned to Lorelei Eusebius, who nodded once in confirmation. "I must insist that you let myself and my associates in," she went on. "We have been kept standing on the doorstep --"

Beth's father cut her off. "D'you have a warrant?" he said.

She drew a scroll out of her robes, and unfurled it in Beth's father's face with a look of grim satisfaction. He glanced over it and grunted. "Does Lucius Malfoy know about this?" he said.

The Ministry witch smiled, an unpleasant edged thing. "Who do you think reported your possession of unlawful items, literature, and potions?" she said "I wouldn't rely on your powerful friends to protect you, Mr. Goyle; it's enough of a job to protect themselves, these days. And now I really _must_ insist --"

"Come in," he said, and stood aside from the door. "Gregory, Beth: Back to bed."

"Ah, no," said Lorelei Eusebius, as she and her associates stepped through the door, the moondog almost bowling Bestet over in its eagerness. "I'm afraid that the entire household must remain within the view of either Mr. Garrett, Mr. Redpath, or myself until the search is over."

Beth's father gave a suppressed growl at that, and said, "Gregory, Beth: Come back here."

The children, who had already begun to make their way upstairs and were not about to stop just on Lorelei Eusebius's say-so, came back down to the parlor. Gregory leaned against the wall, and scowled. Beth took a seat on the sofa beside her mother. "But what if I have to use the toilet?" she said. She did, too. She hadn't gone when she woke up, in the excitement.

"Then I will accompany you," said Lorelei Eusebius. Beth decided that she didn't have to go after all, and wouldn't until the raid was over, not if it took five hours.

In the meantime, the two Ministry wizards had begun to search the parlor. The one without the dog -- Mr. Garrett, Beth thought it was -- had emptied all the glasses out of the big oak breakfront and was frowning at the whisky decanter as if he suspected it of containing something nasty. The moondog, meanwhile, was straining eagerly towards the next room back. "He's got a strong scent," said Mr. Redpath. "There's some powerful magic back there."

"Of course there's powerful magic back there," said Beth's mother. "That's my kitchen."

Lorelei Eusebius did not look impressed with this pronouncement, but simply followed Mr. Redpath and the moondog into the kitchen. Mr. Garret finished looking through the breakfront -- although he didn't put anything back -- and started rifling through the books on the shelves. The Goyles sat quietly and tried to seem unconcerned, except for Gregory, who remained standing. Still, a wince went through the entire family at a loud crash from the kitchen. They were just beginning to relax again when Lorelei Eusebius emerged from the kitchen, bearing a small stoppered bottle and a satisfied smirk.

"Poison hemlock, Mrs. Goyle?" she said.

"We has _permits_," said Bestet. "Missis is going specially to the Ministry every year to get them. It's for grigs, nasty bugses."

"Indeed," said Lorelei Eusebius. "Your stonework seems very sound for a house infested by grigs."

"I can fetch you the relevant documents, if you like," said Beth's mother.

"I'm sure you can," said Lorelei Eusebius. "I believe I will be interested in inspecting many of your documents very closely, Mrs. Goyle. And making some recommendations to the relevant offices. Later. For now, stay where you are, please."

Apart from the hemlock, however, neither Lorelei Eusebius, Mr. Redpath, nor the moondog could find anything questionable in the kitchen, and shortly thereafter Beth heard the slam of the great doors that led from the kitchen to the dining room. The portrait of Great-Grandmother Chant that hung above the head of the table had apparently heard it too, for the slam was immediately followed by a quiet but unceasing monologue of complaint. Beth's mother was known to remark – though not in the presence of Beth's father -- that at least when the old woman was alive she'd had to pause occasionally for breath. Luckily, she'd had her portrait painted while reclining on a divan, and spent most of her time sleeping picturesquely. Now that she'd been woken, however, the Goyles would be lucky to have a quiet meal by the next week.

Mr. Garrett, in the meantime, had turned the Goyles out of their seats to search the cushions of the sofa, tapped all over the coffee table looking for secret compartments, examined the workings of the antique wireless, muttered counter-charms at everything in the parlor to see if it would turn into something else, and finally given up and taken a seat, staring stonily at the Goyles as they stonily avoided looking at him. Except for Gregory, who continued to glare.

They remained that way for some time. The footsteps of the other searchers moved away from the dining room, and out of hearing range, although Great-Grandmother Chant continued to be depressingly audible. Bestet began to tidy up the disarray that Mr. Garrett had made of the parlor. Lorelei Eusebius, Mr. Redpath, and the moondog came back through the parlor and disappeared up the stairs. Beth fidgeted in her seat.

Finally, the Ministry witch, wizard, and dog returned to the parlor. Lorelei Eusebius, in particular, looked thoroughly disgruntled. "Mr. and Mrs. Goyle," she said, "there are a number of things we came across in our search which I wonder whether you can explain. Mr. Redpath tells me that Phobos _quite definitely_ smelled a Procrustean Maiden in the southeast corner of the library --"

"My grandfather had one," said Beth's father. "It was destroyed."

"_Immediately_ after the publication of the Warlocks' Convention of 1863, of course," said Beth's mother. "He was a great collector of oddities, was Grandfather Goyle."

"Again in the library," Lorelei Eusebius went on, "there was a complete collection of _The Books of the Minor Arcana _--"

"Not complete," said Beth's father.

"We have no Volume 13, as I'm sure you noticed," said Beth's mother.

"Dragon's breath tea leaves in the medicine cabinet --"

"Legal," said Beth's father.

"With the proper protective spells, which _I certainly hope_ you've restored," said Beth's mother.

"_And finally_," said Lorelei Eusebius, "I have been to many wizard's houses which were bigger on the inside than on the outside, but never until today have I been to one which is so much bigger on the outside than on the inside. How exactly does one get to the east wing from here, Mr. Goyle?"

"One doesn't," he said. "It's not been used for years."

"I see," said Lorelei Eusebius. Her expression made it clear that she thought there were Dark rituals held in the east wing every full moon, and twice in October. In fact, there simply hadn't been the money to keep it up since Grandfather Goyle's day, and all the connecting passages had been bricked up. It was not quite as unused as Beth's father made out, however; Gregory and Beth had loved to play there when they were small, and Gregory still skulked off to the east wing whenever he wanted to be left alone.

"My warrant," Lorelei Eusebius continued, "covers the entire house, including the east wing. If there is no access to it from inside the house, we are all simply going to have to take a walk."

And so the party from the Ministry and the Goyles made their way across the lawn, Beth and her mother in their slippers, Gregory in his bare feet. The grass had not been trimmed for some time, and the bottom of Beth's nightgown was soon soaked with dew. The sun had come up over the horizon, and the morning mist begun to lift, and the east wing of the Goyles' house bulked impressively against a backdrop of hills and forest. The moondog bounded out ahead, ignoring darting birds and rodents, hot on the scent of magic. Mr. Redpath hurried close behind.

The moondog came upon a window whose peeling shutter hung open, and cleared the crumbling sill with one leap. The rest of the party scrambled after him. A silvery ghost hung from a silvery rope high up in the rafters, and Lorelei Eusebius let out a small gasp.

"That's Uncle Geoffery," said Beth's mother. "He never says anything or does anything; he just hangs there."

"I see," said Lorelei Eusebius. Apart from that, the room was entirely bare. Nor could any of Mr. Garrett's pokings or proddings persuade anything invisible to reveal itself, or any secret chambers to open. The moondog seemed impatient to be gone, and soon the rest of the party followed him out into the hall.

The search of the east wing went quickly. Most of the rooms were empty, and the occasional stick of broken furniture, or plant growing up from the floor proved to be harmless. There was a moment of excitement when a frayed carpet in one of the rooms was found to be floating an inch or so above the floor, but Mrs. Goyle assured the searchers that it could not be persuaded to go any higher, or move about in any other way, and after a thorough examination Mr. Garrett had to admit that she was right.

It was only when they began to climb the winding stair to the tower that the moondog showed excitement once more. The tower room was more furnished than the rest of the east wing put together, but still there wasn't much: an old broomstick, an armchair that, apart from worn upholstery and a few stray bits of stuffing poking out, was perfectly serviceable, a cloak of Gregory's hanging from a bracket that once had held torches, and Gregory's school trunk. It was the latter that the moondog was pawing at and sniffing with frantic haste. Lorelei Eusebius looked distinctly more cheerful as she knelt to examine its contents. These proved to be: a packet of biscuits, a flask of water, a deck of cards, a couple of firecrackers, and several dead bugs in jars. Mr. Garrett examined them one by one, but none of them was anything but what it appeared to be. The moondog ignored them all and continued to scratch at the trunk. And then, with a quiet hiss of triumph, Lorelei Eusebius drew a slim book from where it had been hidden between the lining of the trunk and the wood. Gregory turned white. Beth was merely puzzled: Of all the things that Gregory might be doing by himself in the east tower, she had never thought he might be reading.

"Oh," said Lorelei Eusebius, paging through the book, whose cover read _A Compendious, Comprehensive, and Well-nigh Exhaustive Guide to Simple Potions._ "Oh-_ho_. Stolen school property? I may write out that expulsion order yet."

"It isn't stolen," said Beth's father. "It's mine."

"Really," said Lorelei Eusebius, looking up from the book and smiling broadly. "Then I suppose you realize that some of the recipes in this book are classified as Grade 2 Dark potions. Legal for educational and research institutions to own, but not private individuals. _I_ will be confiscating this book --" here she handed it to Mr. Garrett -- "And there is a matter of a sixty Galleon fine. Moreover, you will be required to appear before a Wizengamot. I will be presenting them with _all_ my findings. I have every confidence that they will be able to find out what really happened to your grandfather's Procrustean Maiden, and your missing Volume 13."

As she was speaking, she took a roll of parchment and a livid red quill and began to write out a summons, which vibrated like a Howler about to explode. She handed it to Mr. Goyle, who took it without a word. Equally silently, Lorelei Eusebius, her associates, and the Goyles made their way downstairs and out the tumbled window. When they reached the center of the lawn, the party from the Ministry summoned their broomsticks, and with a "Good day, Mr. and Mrs. Goyle," from Lorelei Eusebius, took to the air, the moondog running before them as easily as he ran across the grass.

"Dad," said Gregory desperately as soon as they were out of sight, "I'm sorry, I didn't even know it was there --"

Beth's father turned without replying and began to stalk towards the house, the rest of his family following after. When they were all inside, Beth's mother sank onto the couch with a heavy sigh and said, "Bestet, make us all some tea." Beth, however, was already making for the nearest toilet at top speed.

Later, with breakfast finished and the dishes cleared away, Beth went up to her room, which, she noted sadly, was an utter tip. The drawers had been pulled out of the dresser and were stacked on the floor, the dresser itself, along with Beth's desk, had been pulled away from the wall, and clothes, books, and stuffed dolls had been thrown at random across the room. The only neat spot was Beth's bed, which Bestet had just finished making, with fresh sheets and aggressively sharp corners.

"Bestet," said Beth with some surprise, "you know it's my job to keep my own room neat."

"These is _extraordinary circumstances_," said Bestet. "_You_ is never leaving your room like this, Miss."

"I know," said Beth, picking her way across the floor. "But I . . .oh."

Beth's diary, with its cheerful blue-edged pages, was lying open on the desk, on top of a pile of winter robes. Apparently the searchers, not content with looking through all twenty-six books of Beth's _Sylvia's Unicorns_ series, had decided to check the diary for Dark spells. The witch at the shop where Beth's father had got the diary had charmed it so that it only opened to Beth's thumbprint, but the charm had not been proof against the experts from the Ministry. Beth tried to close the book, but it wouldn't even shut properly now; it just sprang back open to the page it had been showing when Beth found it. "They could have just asked me to open it for them," said Beth.

"Miss?" said Bestet.

"It's not important," said Beth. She found she did not want to look at the diary anymore. "I haven't written in it in nearly a year anyway. Just toss this out with the rest of the rubbish, Bestet, please."

For the next hour, Beth and Bestet painstakingly put the room back the way it had been. Beth didn't know any cleaning spells, and wouldn't have been allowed to do them if she_ had_ known, but then Bestet couldn't reach the top of the desk without a stool, so it evened out. Beth didn't realize how tired she was until they finished. Bestet hurried off to do the rest of the house, and Beth sank down on her bed, looked once around the room with satisfaction, and promptly fell asleep. She did not wake up until her mother came in, some time later.

"Beth, dear," said her mother. "I didn't realize you were asleep."

"I wasn't," said Beth. "Was I?"

"There's been an owl from Hogwarts," said her mother.

Beth bit her lip. Had the Ministry witch gotten Gregory expelled after all?

"You're in," her mother went on. "You're going to Hogwarts, dear."


	2. Chapter 2: Silent Treatment

Additional Disclaimer: _Three Dreams on the Transmutations of Metals_ is a real book. I own the words and ideas contained in it (and so do you! That's what public domain means) but I didn't come up with them; Mr. Nazari did.

Chapter 2: Silent Treatment

Dinner at the Goyles' that evening was a decidedly grim affair. Beth's father was still refusing to speak to Gregory, and confined his conversation to Beth and her mother to such civilities as "Please pass the salt." He was not a talkative man at the best of times; however, his extreme reticence, combined with the events of the morning, cast a pall over the entire table. Gregory only spoke in barely audible mumbles, and Beth was afraid to open her mouth at all. Beth's mother tried, once or twice, to introduce subjects of conversation, without notable success. The only good news they had had all day was Beth's Hogwarts letter, and this was an understandably sore subject with both Beth's father and Gregory. Beth's father got out a gruff "Well done," at the news, and Gregory mumbled something that might have been congratulations or might have been an observation that he didn't see what was so great about Hogwarts, or younger sisters who thought they were so clever, either. Beth replied "Thank you," to both of them, to be on the safe side, and the family once more applied themselves glumly to their roast beef, potatoes, and mashed leeks.

There was a lot to be glum about. The meal was the best that Beth's mother could contrive from the ruins of her kitchen, and without Bestet's help, who had been putting the rest of the house back together all day. The roast was overdone, the potatoes were watery, the leeks had congealed lumps of flour in, and the only one who seemed to be able to muster enthusiasm for any of it was Gregory, who could have mustered enthusiasm for an old shoe, had it appeared on his plate. That was only natural, Beth reflected: Gregory had been on a steady growth spurt since he was three years old. Beth's own capacities were less legendary, and she was reduced to pushing her food around her plate with a fork.

Great-Grandmother Chant, meanwhile, was taking advantage of the rest of the family's silence to make her opinions known. Her opinions were as follows: Young people today had no respect; when she had been alive she had never been treated in such a disgraceful manner; she would have thought that her own descendants would have had more gumption than to let a trio of jumped-up Ministry officials run roughshod over her, Great-Grandmother Chant's, house; but that was the way of the world these days; the old had to make way for the young, and then the young forgot the old; you'd think, however, that it wouldn't be too much trouble to have a restorer in to look at her once in a while; she was sure that the smoke from the candelabras wasn't doing her blues and yellows any good; but then, perhaps she ought to be grateful that she wasn't being stored in an attic somewhere and being eaten by mice; and she was grateful; she was. These opinions were delivered in a quiet, plaintive tone which suggested that she spoke more in sorrow than in anger. Occasionally Beth's mother made placating noises at her, which affected the flow of her diatribe not at all.

In the end, not even Gregory seemed disappointed that there wasn't pudding, although that was probably because he knew perfectly well that he wouldn't have been allowed any if there had been. Bestet was apparently finished with cleaning the house, because the dishes disappeared directly as Beth's father rose from the table. He went away to the library, and Beth's mother to sit at her desk in the parlor and do whatever it was she did that involved moving bits of paper around and ensured that the household continued to run smoothly. Gregory went up to his room.

Usually this was a sign that he wasn't entirely averse to company, although today it might just have been that he no more wanted to spend time in the east tower than Beth wanted to look at her broken diary. However, Beth, deciding to chance it, followed him up, knocked on the door, and said, "May I come in?"

"Yeah," said Gregory.

Gregory's room showed no signs of having been searched earlier in the day, except perhaps that it was a bit neater than usual. He himself was lying on his bed and staring dully up at the ceiling. "Do you want to play Exploding Snap?" said Beth.

"No," said Gregory.

"Wizard chess?" said Beth.

"No," said Gregory.

"Poltergeist?" said Beth.

"Can you be quiet for two minutes at a time!" said Gregory.

Beth could. She sat down with her back against the bed, took the latest _Sylvia's Unicorns_ out of her pocket, and began to wait.

Her attention was not really fixed on the book. She had already read it twice, and besides, she was really burning to know the truth about the book that Lorelei Eusebius had found among Gregory's school things. It did no good to ask him questions, however. He would speak when he made up his mind to, otherwise, he would not. Remaining silent was a talent that ran in the Goyle family, although, as far as Beth could tell, only in the male line. She herself was restraining her curiosity only with the greatest difficulty. If Gregory didn't say something soon, she would, and then he'd never tell her.

"I wish I'd never laid eyes on that sodding book," said Gregory.

"I didn't know you were interested in potions," said Beth.

Gregory snorted. "I'm not," he said. "Who could be? Even Malfoy isn't, though he pretends to be, to keep Professor Snape happy. Dunno why he bothers. He's _good_ at potions. But anyway, that's why he got Professor Snape to sign for that book out of the restricted section -- to show an interest. But _I_ wasn't going to pass my potions exam without help, and you saw that book, it's so small, I could hide it in my desk without any trouble. It had all the potions we'd done last year in it, too."

"So it wasn't Dad's book," said Beth.

"Course not," said Gregory. "_He_ knows better than to keep something like that lying around the house."

"But what happened?" said Beth. "With your exam?"

"What do you think?" said Gregory. "It didn't work, did it? Professor Snape caught me before the exam even started. Snarked at me for last-minute studying. But he didn't get me for cheating -- he's all right, I guess. Still, I failed the exam. Now I've got to get good marks in Potions this year, or I'll be tossed out of Hogwarts after all, and never mind Dad and his sodding sacrifices."

"Oh," said Beth.

After a reflective pause, Gregory went on, "After that, the book wasn't in my room; I figured I'd taken it back to the library after all, or Malfoy had. Never thought it was in my trunk until this morning. Now Dad's got to appear before the Wizengamot -- that'd be brilliant, eh, me with my wand broken and him in Azkaban? I can guess what Great-Grandmother Chant'd say."

"She'd be sorry for you, Gregory, you know she would," said Beth. She rested her chin on her knees, thinking hard. "Dad's _not_ going to Azkaban," she finally said. "He hasn't done anything _wrong_. And _you're_ not getting tossed out of Hogwarts."

"How d'you figure that?" said Gregory.

"Because I'm going to Hogwarts this year," said Beth. "And I'm going to help you."

"Hah," said Gregory. "You don't know Professor Snape -- or the rest of the professors, for that matter. Hogwarts isn't lessons from cousin Mabel. It's _hard_."

"_I_ can help," said Beth. "I know I can. Just let me try."

Gregory didn't reply, and Beth was afraid that was all she was getting out of him that night. But before she could make up her mind to open her book again, or leave the room altogether, he spoke. "All right," he said, "I've got an essay to write for Potions. They give homework over the summer, that's another nasty fact about Hogwarts you might not have known. I've been putting it off, but I might as well get started. You can help. Get me my _Magical Drafts and Potions_, will you?" he added, nodding to the schoolbooks stacked up on the desk.

_Magical Drafts and Potions_ turned out to be a thick book with a blue cover, some of whose pages were wrinkled and discolored with damp. It also smelled faintly of sulfur. Beth was not at all surprised that Gregory had not tried to hide it in his desk for the exam -- it was heavy.

She handed the book to Gregory, and he took a slip of parchment from between its pages, scanned it, and handed it to Beth.

"_When a potion is compounded_," Beth read, "_many of the elements undergo a process of transmutation. Discuss. Three feet, two inches._ Gregory! That's taller than Bestet!"

"Yeah," said Gregory. "So? How would you go about it, genius?"

"Um . . ." said Beth, "write big?"

"Nothing in ten-inch tall letters is still nothing," Gregory pointed out.

"Yeah, okay," said Beth. "That book's got an index, hasn't it? Look up 'transmutation.' I'll go get a roll of parchment and a pen," she added quickly, so that Gregory wouldn't make _her_ look it up.

Over the next hour, they found every time the book mentioned transmutation. Beth read the passages aloud, and Gregory wrote. "You can't just write down the words in the book," said Beth. "You've got to change them around. Otherwise it's just copying."

"_I_ know that," said Gregory. And then proceeded to tear off the top of his roll of parchment and start again.

When he was finished, Beth got out a measuring tape and measured the essay. "One foot five inches," she said.

"_And_ I was writing my biggest," Gregory said glumly.

"We'll just have to get more books," said Beth. "There's plenty in the library."

Gregory went stony. "I'm not going down there," he said.

"Why not?" said Beth.

"_You_ know why," said Gregory. "Dad's there. He'll sit there and ignore me."

"You're being silly, Gregory," said Beth. But she went down to the library herself anyway. And it wasn't as though her father said anything to her, either. He barely looked up from his book, but when he did, it was with a half-smile. Beth had to admit Gregory had a point. When their father was ignoring you, you could tell from across the room; and when he wasn't, you knew that, too.

She returned with three books: two big fat ones, and one old thin one with a red leather cover that was called _Three Dreams on the Transmutation of Metals_. "I got this one because it has the word transmutation in the title," said Beth.

"We'll start with that," said Gregory. "It's shortest."

_Three Dreams on the Transmutation of Metals_ did not have an index. Gregory began to page through it. "What does this even mean?" he said. "_Whoever bites me must bite himself first; otherwise, if I bite him, death shall bite him first, in the head; for first he must bite me -- biting being the medicine of biting_."

Beth looked over his shoulder. "Maybe that it's important to do all the steps in the right order?" she suggested doubtfully. "Like, if you add the ingredients in one order, you get medicine, but if you add them in a different order you get poison?"

"Whatever," said Gregory. "I'll write that down."

"Put in the quote, too," Beth suggested. "And make sure you write the author's name. Giovanni Battista di Nazari. That's good for half an inch at least."

"It's got a picture," said Gregory. "Is that supposed to be a dragon? It looks like a blowfish."

"More like a three-headed ostrich," Beth said. "I don't expect you could get away with putting a picture in your essay?"

"Nah," said Gregory. "I can't draw, anyway."

One of the big books, _Precision Potion-making_, turned out to be mainly concerned with the effects that the time of day, positions of the stars, phases of the moon, and so on had on potions, and did not mention transmutation at all. But _On the Principles, etc._ (what the etc. stood for was never made clear, and the only reason Beth didn't miss out the book altogether was the picture of a cauldron on the spine) had an entire chapter on transmutation in the making of potions. Neither Beth nor Gregory understood half of it, but that put it one step above _Three Dreams on the Transmutation of Metals_. The essay had grown to two feet, ten inches, when their mother stuck her head in the door.

"Gregory!" she said. "Are you working on your schoolwork? How nice!"

"Beth's helping," said Gregory.

"I wanted to see what the work at Hogwarts was like," Beth added by way of explanation. She didn't think that the time was right to get into a discussion of Gregory's academic troubles.

"She's doing a good job," Gregory said.

Their mother was nearly levitating with pride as she walked into the room. "I have the two best children in the entire wizarding world," she said, kissing them each on the forehead in turn. "But Beth, it's time for bed. Remember, tomorrow's the day we visit Aunt Eudoxia."

Gregory unsuccessfully stifled a groan. The prospect of ice cream afterwards was never enough to reconcile him to a visit to St. Mungo's Barmy Old Codgers Ward. Beth's mother's mouth flattened to a line. "Good night, Beth," she said with an air of finality. Beth took the hint and ran off to her own room, closely followed by the sounds of furious scolding from behind Gregory's closed door. Disrespect for Aunt Eudoxia merely served as a jumping-off point for a rehashing of the day's events, and it went on from there, although by that time, Beth could no longer make out actual words. Eventually, her mother's tones grew softer, and then fell silent entirely, but Beth lay awake for some time after that. The nap she'd had that afternoon had left her restless, and she spent some time worrying about her father, Gregory, and her own entrance to Hogwarts before she finally fell asleep. If she dreamt of the transmutation of metals, she didn't remember it in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3: The Barmy Old Codgers Ward

Chapter 3: The Barmy Old Codgers Ward

The next morning, Beth put on her second-best robes -- a sprigged calico which had once belonged to Cousin Mabel -- and cleaned her nails very thoroughly before coming down to breakfast. She did not know how Aunt Eudoxia, who couldn't see two inches in front of her face, could always spot ragged or dirty fingernails, but there it was.

As soon as she smelled food, she realized how hungry last night's unsatisfying dinner had left her. Fortunately, the kitchen was back in order, and Bestet was in top form. Beth piled bacon, fried potatoes, and French toast onto her plate, and spent the next several minutes silently but very contentedly indeed. It was altogether more cheerful than last night. The Goyles breakfasted in the kitchen, so Great-Grandmother Chant was nothing more than a distant hum. Beth's father had unbent enough that, when Beth's mother said that she was taking the children to London to visit Aunt Eudoxia, and afterwards to do some shopping for school, he told her to say hello to Old Aunt Doxy from him, and gave Beth eight Sickles. He did not give Gregory anything. Gregory spent most of breakfast staring at his plate -- which was not that unusual -- and not eating much -- which _was_. He looked scrubbed and unhappy in his own second-best robes, which were already a bit too small for him, although they'd been new last Christmas.

When breakfast was over, Beth's father floo'd to work, and Beth, Gregory, and their mother to the big furnace in Diagon Alley. Then Beth's mother said a quick Obscuring Charm, and they walked the two miles of Muggle London that separated Diagon Alley and St. Mungo's Hospital. Being in the Muggle world always made Beth's mother nervous, and she held tightly to both children's hands, and walked through the crowd with her eyes straight ahead and a determined expression on her face. Beth did not blame her. It sometimes seemed as if there were more Muggles in one block of London than there were wizards in the entire world, and that each of them had two cars, one of whose horns was hooting, and one of whose alarms was going off. Muggles were _loud_.

Gregory, however, did not like his hand being held, and jerked away, colliding with a large Muggle in an ill-fitting suit, who frowned at him for a moment before the charm took effect and his eyes slid away. Beth's mother didn't say anything, but she must have been looking out of the corner of her eye, because her mouth went flatter and her eyes narrower. Gregory shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking.

Eventually they arrived in front of Purge & Dowse Ltd., the department store that was a front for St. Mungo's. Beth's mother grabbed Gregory by the elbow to make sure he stood in front of the display window, and whispered, "We're here to see Eudoxia Egg." A dummy beckoned them inside, and they stepped through the window.

Once they were safely in the wizard hospital, Beth's mother immediately relaxed, and did not even seem that annoyed when she said, "Gregory, dear, you _must be more careful_ in the Muggle world." Gregory merely grunted in reply. He was still sulking.

As they stood in the queue at the Welcomewitch's desk, Beth occupied herself by reading the notices on the wall. They were always rather alarming, and today was no exception: Between magical bugs, dangerous creatures, and jinxed artifacts Beth found herself wondering why anyone got out of bed in the morning, unless of course it was to escape an infestation of Bombastic Bed-Beetles. The sign just above the Welcomewitch's head was flashing, in lurid reds and greens, the words DID YOU CHECK YOUR SHOES FOR CARNIVOROUS FUNGUS THIS MORNING? Beth hadn't, and wriggled her toes apprehensively.

"Next!" said the Welcomewitch, as a man whose face was being eaten by what looked like maggots hurried off to the lifts.

Beth's mother stepped forward. "We're here to see Eudoxia Egg, Barmy Old Codgers," she said.

"Ah, yes," said the Welcomewitch with a grimace. "They're through that door today," she said, gesturing off to her right, where there was a large oak door with iron fittings, quite unlike the other institutional-style doors in the hospital. "The latest report says it's two flights up, one down, then the third door on the left when you get to the endless corridor. Madam Egg _should be_ in the first room on the right."

For once, the Welcomewitch's directions proved to be accurate. The first flight of stairs was a narrow stone spiral, lit at intervals by torches in brackets along the walls. It clearly belonged with the oak door. Beth would have liked the next flight better -- the stairs were wide and covered in a floral carpet, and the air smelled vaguely of lavender -- except for the fact that each step was almost half as tall as Beth herself. One of the barmy old codgers was clearly projecting a very early memory. The flight down was very similar to the first one, but it was straight, and cold as well as gloomy.

"Oh!" said Beth's mother. "It's the stairs leading to the Potions dungeon at Hogwarts!" This made Gregory even more grumpy, but Beth looked around herself with interest, imagining herself going down the original of the staircase with a group of friends, on their way to their first Potions lesson. Gregory said Potions was hard, but surely that just meant _interesting_?

When they reached the bottom of the staircase, however, they did not arrive at the Potions dungeon, but in a long corridor carpeted in something red and ankle-deep. There were doors along the corridor at intervals as far as Beth could see in either direction, interspersed with blank canvases in ornate frames that whispered indistinctly. The light was dim and Beth couldn't determine its source: The walls had neither windows nor any sort of light fixture, and there didn't seem to be a ceiling at all, just walls rising up into infinity. A figure shuffled along the corridor towards them.

As it got closer, Beth could see it was a young witch wearing a nurse's uniform. "Oh, thank goodness!" said the nurse when she saw them. "I'd just gotten off on break and I found myself in this _beastly_ corridor . . . can you tell me how to get back to the main hospital?"

"Up this staircase, then down two more," said Beth's mother. "We've just come from there. Hurry before it changes."

The nurse took this advice to heart, and sprinted up the stairs, not even pausing as she shouted a breathless "Thanks!" over her shoulder.

Beth's mother shook her head. "Must be new," she said. "Poor thing, I wonder how long she was wandering around before she saw us?"

The third door on the left did turn out to be the Barmy Old Codgers Ward, as was immediately evident from the architectural riot that faced the Goyles when they went through. The ceiling was trying to be high and vaulted, and low with wooden beams at once. It made Beth's eyes water. She did not even try to see what the walls and the floor were doing, but dove for the plain low door that always stood in front of Aunt Eudoxia's room. There was a bit of a collision at the handle, and the three Goyles more-or-less fell into the room, dizzy, mussed, and, in Beth's case, with a knock on the head, whether from Gregory's elbow or her mother's handbag, she wasn't sure.

Aunt Eudoxia's room rarely changed. It was small and neat and chilly, and everything in it was tall and narrow, from the great wooden bed that Aunt Eudoxia needed two nurses to help her into at night, to the window, which was showing, as it usually did, a bright scene of rolling hills and new-fallen snow. The only exception was Aunt Eudoxia herself, a tiny, toothless, nearly bald woman who sat in a wheelchair by the window and stared straight ahead without blinking. Her face was so covered with wrinkles that the only distinguishing feature in it was a pair of enormous, thick glasses that sat on what once must have been a nose.

Beth's mother straightened her robes, and Beth and Gregory followed her across the room and hung nervously back as she bent to kiss Aunt Eudoxia's cheek. There was no telling on any given day whether Aunt Eudoxia would be silent for the entire visit, or talkative and rambling without any clear idea of who her visitors were. It did not help that she had been a gifted Seer when she was young; it just meant that you were as likely to be mistaken for your grandchild as for your grandparent.

"Good morning, Aunt Eudoxia," Beth's mother was saying. "It's Charlotte, Polyhymnia's granddaughter. I've brought my children, Gregory and Beth, to visit. _You_ remember Gregory and Beth."

Aunt Eudoxia did not respond to this obviously false statement, except perhaps by blinking especially slowly. Beth's mother began to relate the news from Cousin Mabel, who was teaching at a witch's finishing school in Switzerland. Aunt Eudoxia's eyes slowly focused on Gregory. "Where's my wand?" she demanded. "I want my wand."

The barmy old codgers were not allowed wands; it was judged that they were enough trouble without them. However, telling Aunt Eudoxia this was sure to upset her, and upsetting Aunt Eudoxia, with a wand or without, was a good way to earn a stay on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's, while they re-attached your face. So Gregory just shrugged. Aunt Eudoxia's gaze grew sharper. "You never listen to a word I say, do you?" she said. "I told you, that's a no-good woman, I told you, she'll be the death of you, I told you. If you think I care anymore, you're wrong. I'll dance at your funeral yet, Godfrey."

"That's great, Aunt Eudoxia," said Gregory. "Only I'm not Godfrey; I'm Gregory. Charlotte's son."

"Charlotte . . . Charlotte . . ." said Aunt Eudoxia. "Married that Goyle fellow?"

"That's right," said Beth's mother encouragingly.

Aunt Eudoxia shook her head slowly, and tried to click her tongue, although without teeth she couldn't quite manage it. "Terrible thing, that gel," she said. "Poison."

Beth's mother somewhat anxiously tried to draw Aunt Eudoxia out on the subject, but she had lapsed into silence once more, and eventually Beth's mother gave up and returned to relating the news. She did not mention the visit from the Ministry of Magic, or the upcoming hearing, but she did mention Beth's Hogwarts letter. Aunt Eudoxia's eyes snapped into focus once more. "Beth's going to Hogwarts?" she said.

"Yes," said Beth's mother, "and we're all so proud--" But Aunt Eudoxia was once more shaking her head and making the wet sucking sound that meant she was trying to click her tongue.

"Bad things happening," she said. "Bad, bad things. The chamber's open."

Beth glanced at the door, which was closed. Beth's mother said, "No, Aunt Eudoxia, you're thinking of when Martha was at Hogwarts. _Your_ daughter."

"You hush, Martha," said Aunt Eudoxia irritably. "_I_ know what I'm talking about. Beth's first year at Hogwarts, that's the one. Come here where I can see you, gel."

Beth's mother gave her a little prod in the back, and Beth went and stood in front of Aunt Eudoxia's chair. This was not good enough for Aunt Eudoxia, who continued to mutter "Closer . . . closer . . ." until Beth had her toes underneath Aunt Eudoxia's chair, and was leaning so far forward that the felt she might fall over any moment. An unpleasant medicinal smell filled her nose, and she hoped desperately that she wouldn't sneeze.

Aunt Eudoxia grunted. "You're no beauty," she said. "You take the left fork, hear?"

"What fork?" said Beth. "What's going to happen, Aunt Eudoxia?"

Unfortunately, Gregory had, in listening to this interplay, wandered too close to Aunt Eudoxia, and she took advantage of this opportunity to grab his arm and lean intently towards him. Beth managed to turn her forwards stumble into a backwards one. Aunt Eudoxia's eyes went wide behind her glasses, and the scene outside the window abruptly changed to summer. Gregory plucked at her fingers, trying to extricate himself, but it was too late. "_Phillip!_" said Aunt Eudoxia, in a voice quite unlike the one she had been using up until now: girlish, breathy, and suffused with tears. "I didn't mean it, Phillip, don't go! Oh, Phillip, if you leave, _you'll never come back!_" Then the window exploded.

Beth's mother was nearly half an hour putting everything right. It took five Cheering Charms to calm Aunt Eudoxia down, during which time she kept trying to grab Beth's mother's wand. In the meantime, the bed had caught fire, and Beth's mother put out the flames and restored the bed and its covers, as Aunt Eudoxia sat by the shattered widow and occasionally gave a shrill giggle. The snow had come back, and there was a cold wind blowing heaps of it into the room. Beth and Gregory retreated to the far corner. Gregory had taken most of the impact of the shattering window. His robes were covered in rents, and several angry red lines crisscrossed his face.

"Are you all right?" Beth said.

"'M fine," said Gregory, scrubbing his hand across his face, which did not improve his appearance any. "Why does she have to go and do that _every time_?"

Beth shrugged. "Well, she's barmy, isn't she?" she said. "I guess you remind her of her first husband."

"Yeah," said Gregory. But he already sounded less gloomy. The worst was over, and the room was beginning to warm up, with the window fixed and the snow cleared away.

Beth's mother was straightening Aunt Eudoxia's shawl, and saying, "Goodbye, Aunt Eudoxia, and keep well. I'll come to see you next month." Then she crossed the room to collect her children. "Gregory, dear . . ." she began, then trailed off, clearly torn between scolding and commiserating with him. She settled for tapping him on the head with her wand, whereupon the fabric of his robes wove itself back together, and the cuts on his face closed and faded to pink. "Let's go," she said. "There's chocolate sundaes waiting at Fortescue's."

But chocolate sundaes were not foremost on Beth's mind. "Mum," she said, as they all ducked their heads and made their way to the door of the Barmy Old Codgers Ward, "what did you mean when you said--"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," said Beth's mother. They had come out, not in the endless corridor, but in a marble-floored rotunda, with seven arched passageways, including the one they'd just come from, leading off in seven different directions. Soft light drifted down from the copula above, and a sort of tinkling music filled the air. "You two stay _right here_. I'm going to go find a matron."

Gregory leaned against the wall, took his wand out of his pocket, and began to pass it from one hand to the other, whistling tunelessly. Beth craned her neck to examine the carved figures on the copula, which seemed to be moving in time to the music. Suddenly there was a flash of light.

"What was that?" Beth said.

"Who cares?" said Gregory.

"_I'm_ going to find out what it was," said Beth.

"Probably this room just _does_ it, every once in a while," said Gregory. "Anyway, Mum said stay here."

"I'm not _going_ anywhere," said Beth. "I just want to see what that light was. It came from one passageway over."

"Suit yourself," said Gregory, and began whistling again.

The source of the light proved easy to determine: Standing in the next passageway was a small boy with a very large camera and three legs. One of them was longer and thinner than the other two, and sticking out of his side. It was obviously giving him some trouble in getting around, because he was leaning on a pair of crutches, but it did not seem to dampen his mood any. He looked up at Beth with a huge grin as she approached. "Isn't it amazing?" he said. "It's a whole hospital full of wizards! I'm Colin Creevey," he added as an afterthought.

"Beth Goyle," Beth replied automatically. She wondered, though, whether the boy had addled brains as well as an extra leg. "Of course there's wizards. They wouldn't treat you in a hospital that was only for witches, or for . . . creatures, or something."

"_I_ didn't even know there _were_ wizards until I got that letter from Hogwarts," said Colin.

"Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts next year, too?" said Beth. Then what Colin was saying caught up with her. "Wait, you're not -- your parents aren't Muggles, are they? How awful for you!"

The grin disappeared from Colin's face; instead, he looked surprised and hurt. "No, it's not!" he said.

"Only don't they hate you for being able to do magic?" said Beth. "Or lock you in a room and try to make you turn straw into gold? Muggles in books are always doing that stuff."

"Not _my_ parents," said Colin.

"Well . . . good," Beth said lamely. "Um . . . how'd you get the extra leg?"

Colin brightened immediately at the change of subject. "Oh, that was really cool!" he said. "I was fighting with my brother Dennis, because he wanted to borrow my bicycle, only he's too small, and I _also_ wanted to ride it. So Dennis is yelling at me, and I got on the bicycle, only before I could go anywhere, I had this extra leg dragging behind me! D'you reckon that means Dennis is a wizard, too?"

"Probably," said Beth. She actually had no idea, but she didn't like to think about the alternative. Imagine if Gregory weren't a wizard!

"And then the third leg got tangled in the bicycle, and I started waving my arms around to keep my balance, and this _bus_ appears out of nowhere! Bang! And it had chairs and coffee tables, and it went really fast, and it took me to this hospital! And then he wanted eleven Sickles, only I didn't know what Sickles were! So I gave him a bag of jelly babies, luckily he's really fond of them! And the Healer told me it'll take a week to get rid of my leg, and then I wanted to see the rest of the hospital, and now I'm lost!"

Beth had not understood everything in Colin's breathless narration, but she had got the last part. "That's because you wandered too close to the Barmy Old Codgers Ward," she said.

"What's that?" said Colin.

"Well . . ." said Beth, trying to remember how her mother had explained it to her the first time she'd come. "A wizard or witch's magic is like their nose or their ears; it never stops growing. So really old wizards are often really powerful. But they also get a bit, well, barmy. They can't remember where they are, or _when_ it is, or who anybody else is."

"Yeah," said Colin. His grin was gone again. "That happens to Muggles, too."

"Oh," said Beth. "I didn't know." She seemed doomed to keep saying the wrong thing to him. But she took a breath and forged on with her explanation regardless. "But with wizards, when they get confused because what they see around them isn't what they think it should be, well, they try to change it back. And because they're very powerful, it often works. That's why they have to keep the codgers in their own ward, away from the rest of the hospital. Otherwise you'd never be able to find your way anywhere. But the nurses and matrons who work in the Barmy Old Codgers ward get really good at navigating through it. My mother's gone to fetch one; _she'll_ get us out of here. There they are now."

But it was only Gregory. "Beth, who are you talking to back there?" he said. "Get back here quick, it's changing."

It was, too; the ceiling was getting lower, and the archway they were standing in more squarish. "Come on, Colin!" said Beth. "Hurry!"

But Colin, trying to juggle his camera and crutches, and negotiate his three legs, could not hurry. Meanwhile, Gregory was pulling on Beth's arm, saying, "Get out of there; what are you hanging around for?"

Then the change finished; the archway grew a door, which banged shut with Colin on the far side. Gregory and Beth were standing in what looked like some sort of covered market, with a wide tiled hallway and the shopfronts all crowded together. Neither of them was very happy about it.

"Look what you've done!" said Beth. "We've lost Colin!"

"Who cares?" said Gregory. "We've lost us; that's what I'm worried about."

"No we haven't; we're just where Mum left us," said Beth. She pointed to the shopfront behind them. The sign over it read "Boots," although the windows were displaying an odd assortment of potions, rather than footwear. "The barmy old codgers are through there."

Gregory frowned. "I don't think so," he said.

"Of course they are, look," said Beth, pushing the door open, as Gregory hovered anxiously behind her. And then, " . . . Oh."

The room behind the door was as unlike anything in the Barmy Old Codgers Ward as a room could be. It was white and orderly and gleaming, and practically smelled of purpose. There was a row of shiny metal tables, set at intervals with sinks, and another with inset silver cauldrons and portable fires. Yet another table held an array of neatly arranged instruments, and behind it was a set of pigeonholes containing parchment. One wall was entirely occupied by the largest abacus Beth had ever seen, clicking away furiously. Along the opposite wall were racks and racks, containing jars of various sizes. Inside the jars -- the smallest no bigger than Beth's fist, and the biggest the size of a kitten -- were dragons.


	4. Chapter 4: Hermetic Dragons

Chapter 4 -- Hermetic Dragons

"Brilliant; the market's gone now," Gregory was saying. "I _told _you we were lost."

Beth, however, was barely paying attention as she walked slowly into the laboratory. She did not want to disturb anything, and the room was so painfully clean that she felt breathing in it would disturb it, but she wanted very much to get a closer look at those dragons. They looked more like the pictures Beth had seen of Welsh green dragons -- only much smaller -- than either three-headed ostriches or blowfish, but she had no doubt what they were. "Gregory, look," she said softly. "Hermetic dragons. Like in the book."

Perhaps deciding that they couldn't get any more lost than they already were, Gregory followed her into the lab. "You think?" he said. "They don't look like the picture."

"Don't be silly; what other kind of dragons would they keep in jars?" said Beth, touching one of the jars with her fingertips. The dragon inside looked up and bared its tiny teeth. "Oh, they're _adorable_!"

"They're deadly poison," Gregory pointed out. "Unless you bite yourself first, or something."

Just then the opposite door swung open and a tall young wizard in white work robes came in, strode over to the abacus, and began to make notes on his clipboard. Beth jumped guiltily away from the dragons. The labwizard looked up, and scowled. "What are you kids doing here?" he said.

Gregory, in his imperceptible way, had drifted to stand behind Beth. He clearly felt that she had gotten them into this, and it was up to her to get them out.

"We were just . . ." said Beth. "We were visiting the Barmy Old Codgers Ward, and we got lost . . ."

"Obviously," said the labwizard. "Does this look like the Barmy Old Codgers Ward to you?"

Beth shook her head.

"_Why_ they stuck the research wing next to the Barmy Old Codgers, I don't know," grumbled the labwizard, jotting a few more notes on his clipboard before putting away his quill. "'We can't very well put you near the regular hospital,' they said. 'Your experiments might interfere with the patients,' they said. Well?" he added, holding the door open. "You'd better come along with me. I expect your Mum's looking for you. You didn't touch anything?"

"No," said Beth, surreptitiously wiping her hand on her robes, as if that would erase her fingerprints from the dragon's jar.

"Good," said the labwizard. He led them along a long white corridor filled with identical white doors, each set with a small window near the top. Occasionally a labwizard or -witch, also in white, would come out of one of the doors, and hurry down the corridor to another one. "Here we are," the labwizard said eventually, as they came to a door just like ten others they'd just passed.

The room past it, however, was not at all like the laboratory they'd left. It was smaller, and crowded with furniture and people. Three labwitches stood in the far corner, holding chipped mugs and talking animatedly. There were more mugs, a great silver samovar, and a biscuit tin with a few lonely crumbs on the bottom on a table up against one wall. Along the other was a squashy sofa, where two labwizards sat and discussed a Quidditch match, small silver figures shooting out of their wands and re-enacting plays as they argued. Nearer to, a short witch with greying hair cut severely around her ears was talking to a tall, blond wizard in elegant green robes -- the only one in the room, besides Gregory and Beth, who wasn't wearing white work robes. "Madam Macmillan, I found a couple of strays in the --" said their labwizard to the older witch, and then stopped short when he saw who she was talking to. "Oh, Mr. Malfoy, I'm very sorry, I didn't see you."

The tall blond wizard turned around. It was, in fact, Lucius Malfoy. Beth dug her nails into her palms. "That's quite all right . . . Stephens, is it?" he said. The labwizard nodded. "I _do_ like to drop by sometimes and see how things are going in the lab now and then. Annoying, I know, but one must put up with donors, mustn't one? The Supervisor was just about to give me a tour." Then his eyes lighted on Gregory. "_I_ know you," he said. "You're one of Draco's school friends, aren't you? Caleb Goyle's son."

"That's right, Mr. Malfoy," said Gregory. "This is my sister, Beth."

Beth pressed her lips together and nodded.

"Charming," said Mr. Malfoy. "And how is the rest of your family?"

"We're _fine_," said Beth defiantly.

"I'm so glad," said Mr. Malfoy. "But I mustn't keep Madam Macmillan waiting. _Do_ give my best to your parents, won't you, ah . . . Gregory?" Then he swept out, with Madam Macmillan hurrying to stay in front of him.

Stephens seemed less than pleased with his failure to make Gregory and Beth someone else's problem. "I suppose I'd better take you back to the main hospital," he said. "Only I've got to check the mercury levels . . . stay here; I will be _right back_. Oi, Harper!" he added. "Keep an eye on these kids and make sure they don't wander off, eh?"

One of the labwizards on the couch gave a wave. "Cheers," he said, and went back to discussing Quidditch with his friend, not even noticing the glare that Gregory was directing at him.

"How _could_ you be polite to him?" Beth hissed.

"Who?" said Gregory.

"Mr. _Malfoy_," said Beth. "He sent the Ministry to our house!"

"Yeah, but they wouldn't have found anything if it hadn't been for me," said Gregory. "Anyway, there's no point in getting angry with Mr. Malfoy. D'you think he cares that you were rude to him? He thought it was funny."

"_I'll_ show him funny," said Beth, through clenched teeth.

"Nah, you won't," said Gregory. "Because he's a fully-trained wizard with piles of gold and friends at the Ministry, and you're an eleven-year-old girl who's never been to school and has more ancestors than Galleons."

Beth lifted her chin. "Mum says ancestors are better than Galleons," she said.

"Well, she would," said Gregory, "seeing as how she's got the one and not the other."

Beth did not have time to argue further, because at that point, Stephens came back. "_There_ you are," he said, as if he had caught up with Gregory and Beth halfway to Scotland, and not exactly where he'd left them. "Well? Come along."

They followed Stephens from one white corridor to another, as he rattled off passwords, solved riddles, and at one point transfigured a flower on a climbing plant into a doorknob to get them into the corridor beyond. Beth had had no previous idea St. Mungo's had any research wing at all, but now they seemed to have gone miles, much further than they'd ever had to go to get to the Barmy Old Codgers Ward. Beth had to hurry to keep up with Stephens' determined stride, and it was her lack of breath more than his discouraging attitude that kept her from peppering him with questions. Gregory, although his legs were also considerably shorter than Stephens', did not seem to hurry at all, but neither was he talkative. And so they made their long way through the research wing in relative silence -- except when Stephens had to talk to doors, or to their guardians -- and it came as that much more of a shock when an alarm started blaring.

"Pyewackett!" Stephens' voice rose above the din of what sounded like iron bells. The word, Beth realized as she came puffing up behind him, was addressed to a portrait of Og the Definitely-Not-Mad, which resolutely blocked their way. "Pyewackett, I said! Damn it, let us through!"

"Can't be done," Og the Definitely-Not-Mad shouted cheerfully. "There's been a containment failure in room 328. Everything stays closed until it's fixed."

"Room . . ." Beth panted, " . . . 328? What's in there?"

Stephens ignored her and continued to address Og the Definitely-Not-Mad. "Containment failure?" he said, in an appalled tone that was almost lost in the clangor of the bells.

"Flitted, every last one of 'em!" cackled Og the Definitely-Not-Mad.

Stephens wheeled on Beth. "You said you didn't touch anything!" he yelled.

So _that_ was room 328. "We didn't!" Beth shouted back. "At least, Gregory didn't -- and I only touched one of the jars. That _can't_ have let all the dragons loose! Weren't they still there when you went to check the mercury?"

"All _I_ know is, you kids turn up in room 328 where you don't belong, and the next thing you know, the dragons are loose!" shouted Stephens. "And while Lucius Malfoy is visiting!"

"_Bother_ Lucius Malfoy!" Beth screamed. It echoed oddly in the suddenly silent corridor.

"Og!" said Stephens. "Is the emergency over? Pyewackett," he added as an afterthought.

"Nope!" said Og the Definitely-Not-Mad. "It's just the bells stop ringing constantly after the first minute."

"Wonderful," said Stephens.

It looked as if they were in for a wait. Gregory shoved his hands into his pockets and settled against the wall. Beth, after a short hesitation, sat on the floor -- she had been walking quickly, and she was tired. Stephens alternated between standing still and pacing jerkily the length of Og's portrait. At intervals, a bell rang out, to remind them the emergency was still in progress.

"How can you be keeping dragons, anyway?" said Beth. "Isn't it illegal?"

Stephens stopped short and scowled down at her. "We're an accredited research institution," he said. "Anyway, they're hermetic dragons -- small enough to keep inside and hidden from Muggles, and their natural environment _is_ an alchemist's lab. We'll see if we keep our Dragon Research License after today, though.."

"If you don't . . ." said Beth, and hesitated. The alarm bell sounded, making them all start. "Will you still have a job?" she finished.

Stephens shrugged, and began pacing again.

"Oh," said Beth. She had not thought that a day that began with a visit to Aunt Eudoxia _could_ get any worse, but this was miserable. And unfair, as well: There was no possible way that the dragons' escape was Beth's fault, and anyway Stephens had been so unpleasant to her that it served him right if he got sacked. Also her back was beginning to ache. The robes she was wearing had only small, decorative pockets, with no room for a book, so her choices to occupy herself were thinking unhappy thoughts or counting alarm bells. She had reached thirty-eight, and was thinking that perhaps the next one was past due, when she heard footsteps in the corridor. The owners of the footsteps soon came into sight: Madam Macmillan, Mr. Malfoy, and a trio of harried-looking labwitches.

". . .so sorry," Madam Macmillan was saying. "You mustn't judge our security by this unfortunate incident --"

"Not at all," said Mr. Malfoy. "Accidents can happen to anyone. In fact, they _do_ happen to everyone. What matters is how one deals with them, and what I've seen of your emergency procedures is first-rate. I'll be sure to mention that when I make my recommendation to Mr. Jerrell that you be granted an extension of your Dragon Research License."

"Oh, _will_ you?" said Madam Macmillan.

"Certainly," said Mr. Malfoy. "There are those in the Ministry who would like nothing better than to stifle useful research, but Mr. Jerrell isn't one of them, and I happen to feel -- Oh, it's Stephens again, who works with the dragons. I've been visiting your lab, Mr. Stephens. It's quite impressive."

"That's kind of you to say, Mr. Malfoy," said Stephens. "I wish you'd seen it in a better state."

"Nonsense," said Mr. Malfoy. "As I was just saying to Madam Macmillan, a crisis is the best time to see how a group of people operates. You're doing fine work. Madam Macmillan, I believe you were going to show me that fascinating project that your Musical Research Group was working on."

Stephens watched them go, all signs of irritation gone. He shook his head. "Great man, Mr. Malfoy," he said. And Beth couldn't argue; that was the worst part.

But at least Og the Definitely-Not-Mad swung open to let them through at Stephens' next "Pyewackett." A few turns later and they were back in the main hospital. The oak door to the Barmy Old Codgers ward was at the other end of the room, and Beth's mother was waiting at the Welcomewitch's desk close by.

By the time they reached her, the relieved look on her face had been replaced by a scolding one. Luckily for Beth and Gregory, however, Stephens chose that moment to speak.

"Are these your children, Madam?" he said. "I found them wandering in the research wing. You really ought to keep a closer eye on them in the Barmy Old Codgers ward."

Beth's mother's scolding look was instantly transferred to Stephens. "Listen to me, young man," she began. She went on to suggest that someone who was barely out of school himself had no business telling other people how to raise their children, and that furthermore she did not know what the research wing was doing hiring such callow youngsters, especially as it (the research wing) was a danger to life and limb and a menace to the health of law-abiding witches and wizards everywhere. She could say a few choice words about the administration of St. Mungo's hospital, too, for allowing such goings-on. And so she did. After a minute or so of trying to get a word in edgewise, Stephens was forced to flee. Beth and Gregory exchanged grins behind their mother's back, secure in the knowledge that their sundaes at Fortescue's were safe after all.

As they were leaving, the door to the Barmy Old Codgers ward swung open, and Colin Creevey came out, in the tow of a matron with a very long-suffering look. He spared a few seconds from his excited speech to wave to Beth. She was glad to see he'd made it out all right, too, although she doubted he'd been involved in anything half so exciting as a dragon escape.


End file.
